


haunted? not in this country

by Olympus



Series: in which: [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Violence, hitman stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olympus/pseuds/Olympus
Summary: Henri was born as the son of Cygnus Sparrow--the god of all that lies between creation and destruction. So, to put it simply, Cygnus just... is. That's pretty cool and all, except for this simple fact: even though Cygnus is willing to turn a blind eye to his son, literally no one else is.
Relationships: Irae Chen/?
Series: in which: [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543066





	haunted? not in this country

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote 2k words of this in under an hour one day. maybe it's the start to something?

It was extremely difficult for him to get through the day without being approached by a ghost, spirit, or whatever they called themselves. Often he would just be minding his own business when they would show up, usually demanding that he take some action to bring them back to life. 

It was only when he stared at them, emotionless and obviously very “I don’t want to deal with you right now” that they shut up. A few times, however, Henri had to take it a step farther and forcibly get rid of the spirit. 

It was a bother, really. 

That is why it was suspicious that he hadn’t seen any for days—ever since coming to Frei for his… assignment. 

The city itself was gorgeous: stained glass skyscrapers peppered with solar panels reaching beyond the clouds, homes that have to be hundreds of years old restored and blooming with the bustle of being a home, a city night filled with light and wonder and life. But to Henri, none of these things shook off the bad feeling he had. 

He knew there was something wrong here—he just had to figure out what it was. 

His friends were definitely not helping, either. In fact, Irae seemed to be adamantly against Henri getting any work done. Not that she really knew what he was here to do… she thought it was a vacation.

Henri was a hitman. He hadn’t grown up wanting to be one, of course, but life worked out in funny ways a lot of the time. Coupled with the fact he could speak to dead people; he was damn good at his job. Being the son of Cygnus didn’t hurt either—having a god in your back pocket that was willing to look the other way at all times was a definite bonus. 

In all honesty though, Henri didn’t particularly care what he did as long as he kept himself fed and was able to go on sweet vacations occasionally. 

That was the only reason he had taken this particular job, actually… Irae had been complaining about her lack of “fun” (Henri knew that she could have meant any number of things), so when the first anonymous request came through to visit Frei, he jumped at the chance. There was no reason he shouldn’t.

At least, he thought that until his contractor named who needed to be killed. That was a whole other can of worms. 

Bianca Xeno was a priestess of the Church of Diverge. One of the most… notable, in fact. She was regularly scheduled for TV appearances all over Laix, a former actress turned holy woman. There was no shortage of material against her, but what was brought up as reasoning for her death shocked even Henri.

Bianca Xeno was reportedly carrying out experiments on hundreds of people—and she wasn’t even the first to be killed for it. According to Henri’s source, this branch of the Church has been doing so for hundreds of years, facilitated by the god Diverge himself. Henri hadn’t questioned this. His place was to get in, get the job done, and get out. 

Usually he wouldn’t even be staying in the city for more than a night, but in multiple ways this was a different case. 

Irae hung onto Henri as they left the skyroad port, dark eyes wide and filled with more excitement than the time they had visited Timoris together. Her enthusiasm was infectious, however, and he found himself smiling alongside with her. 

The two had been friends since middle school, when Irae got bored with her current friends (people she had known since she was born, almost) and decided that Henri was cute, not that weird, and must be lonely. At first, when they met, he was insulted by her assumptions, however true or untrue they may be. She was right though, and eventually they grew past that to become best friends. 

She found Henri’s ability to interact with spirits quite weird at first, but she eventually grew accustomed to his snide remarks at them, barely batting an eye when the air became charged as he dispelled a particularly annoying one. Eventually she told him her secrets, too. 

That late at night she had prophetic dreams, telling her the future… she usually used it to cheat, however. But Henri wasn’t a snitch. 

She was rarely shown something extremely important, but the few times she was they left her devastated. Her own father’s death was one of those times—she saw him die once, and then hundreds of times in her nightmares. 

Henri stuck with her through all of this, and even though he could definitely pinpoint the precise moment in time when she was no longer the boisterous and loud version he came to love, he wouldn’t give her up for anything.

Of course, she would never know this… unless she already did, but she rarely kept her visions to herself, so Henri doubted that. 

Now, however, she was being annoying. 

“Gods, Henri, you have to come with me! I can’t go out all alone, you know this. What if—I don’t know—I was taken? What would you do then?” She all but whined, begging him to go out with her. 

He sighed, laying back on the hotel bed and staring at ceiling. It was popcorn styled, very ugly. “My feet hurt, Irae. You’ll be fine anyways, you didn’t foresee anything, right?”

Her voice was somewhat muffled and came from the direction of the bathroom. “I didn’t, but it’s always a possibility, you know that…” she came out, her hair damp from a shower. “If you’re not coming with me then you have to do my hair. Deal?”

Henri rolled onto his side, hand propping him up. He glared at her as she grinned her signature shit-eating grin. ”Gods I hate you. Fine, come here.” 

He sat up fully and made space for her on the bed, reaching for the hairdryer in her hand and plugging it into the wall by his bedside table. He had been doing Irae’s hair for pretty much as long as he’d known her. She was helpless at it, even though her mother had tried teaching her to do a simple braid for years—her lack of skilll hadn’t changed even after they graduated. 

Irae’s hair was dark and glossy, much like Henri’s would be if he cared to grow it out, but the main difference in it was that hers stayed straight even after being blow dried, whereas Henri’s would poof up and result in many social media posts. 

Once her hair dried Henri worked it into two French braids, simple because she hadn’t asked for anything in particular. He snuck a look at her phone and sighed. 

“Why are you still talking to her? She’s talked shit about you so many times—” 

“Ugh, I know, but she’s hot, alright?” Irae leaned her head back, almost ruining one of the braids as she stared upside down into Henri’s eyes. “Maybe this time will be different?”

Henri shook his head and grumbled as Irae went back to her previous position, typing away on her phone. She had problems with chasing the wrong people, and though her dedication was admirable, she was hurt often. 

“This is why you need to go out alone, you see? Meet a cute girl, have fun. Without me”

She turned away from him, one braid incomplete and she frowned. “Why without you though? We have the most fun! Remember that one time in Timoris when—” 

“Hold on, let me finish the braid. And do NOT bring up that night, okay?” Henri said, hoping she’d drop it.

With a laugh, she did. Henri reached for her hair and did the last few twists to finish it. She studied him. “I’m gonna text you all night, though. You will get no relief from me!”

She stood up and brushed off the dress she bought specifically for this trip. There was a mirror in the hallway outside the bathroom that she stopped to look in, a thoughtful look on her face. “I’m going to find you a man. He’ll be cute, I promise… and not straight this time. She made a weird face at herself in the mirror before turning to Henri with another grin on her face. 

He looked back at her, unable to stop a small smile from spreading. “Love you, Irae. Have fun.”

She flashed him a peace sign as she picked up her bag. “Love ya too, introvert!”

Henri let out a breath as she closed the door, her steps echoing down the hall. He fell back on the bed and found himself studying the ceiling again, thoughts racing. He knew what came next. He stood up and stretched, back popping in all the right ways.

He had lied about his feet; rather, he needed to get moving on his target. He was lucky that the contractor supplied a schedule of her normal day, but that was usually way out of the ordinary. He often had to study and find weaknesses to exploit when it came to his kills, and usually that took time. There was a chance he would be done early, which was almost unheard of. 

There were a few times after he killed someone that he stopped for a minute to think. He thought of his father, usually, wondering what he would think. 

Abraxas usually was a soft-hearted man, from what Henri remembered. From what Cygnus told him. But, of course, those memories were far and few in between. The ones that dominated were the drunken rages he flew into when Cygnus’ name was mentioned… and the incident. His powers over spirits did not come into full force until that night, when Henri snapped and killed Abraxas. 

It wasn’t his fault, he knew, but it had taken years of counseling and therapy for him to even come close to that conclusion. It was not his fault that his power over death came to a head during the worst of times. 

What was his fault, however, was where he had taken the ability. Henri was desensitized to death, suffering, everything that came with it. The spirits told him everything he needed to know. What they told him usually consisted of where to find his victims, what he needed to know about their magic, and how to make them hurt for it. 

Because Henri never chose someone that hadn’t hurt others. His victims were individuals who had done horrible, horrible things to many people—Henri felt no remorse, and was not quite sure if he ever would. 

Quietly, Henri readied himself. Stretching, more intense this time, followed with testing his power over the spirits and death, summoning long-dead insects and small animals and then banishing them again. He did this before every strike, making sure that he would always be with his abilities, never powerless like he used to be. 

Walking over to the suitcase he had brought with him; Henri whispered the word that would open the pocket he needed. 

“Crux.”

A pouch lining the inside of the case appeared out of nowhere. He unzipped it, knowing his tools were there. 

One, two, three knives. A vial containing poison for an emergency. Fuzzy socks for the chilly night. Specially charmed shoes to rid of any sound, clothes charmed with the very same. He had multiple sets of these clothes, each with different properties tailored for what he needed. Some hadn’t even been used yet, though he supposed that was okay, it saved him money. 

He checked each weapon as he always did, then checked everything once again. Just to make sure. But for some reason that feeling in the pit of his stomach stayed—something was wrong. He hoped it was just from the absence of spirits. 

He took a cab as to get as close as he could. This was not part of his plan, but he was dressed normally enough—sweatpants and a hoodie covering most of him. The man—who looked to be Foca—gave him a weird look as Henri was dropped off in a deserted intersection. Henri gave him a generous tip and hoped that was enough to keep the man from being too suspicious. 

As he stood alone (the cab speeding away down the dark road) Henri surveyed his surroundings. 

Empty, suburban neighborhood on the edge of Frei. Shoving his hands into his hoodie, Henri concentrated—trying to feel something, anything. If anyone had been looking at him at that moment, they would have seen his form flicker from solid to transparent and back again, slowly and consistently. 

He felt only a slow pulse deep underground—coming from the direction in which he knew Bianca Xeno’s mansion to be. So, he set off, the feeling that something was off only intensifying. The houses grew larger and larger, streetlights flooding the streets, almost as if it was day. With this Henri knew it was his time to disappear. 

So, he did. He was young when he discovered that with enough focus he could turn into the spirits that crowded him so often; not only this, but it was as if they’d cease seeing him, as well. All in all, he was grateful after discovering the ability, 

For now, he had different purposes. He watched as his shadow faded, his form no long truly there. Eyes turned away, he set off again. 

This time, he stopped in front of Bianca Xeno’s own home. The mansion was guarded by tall stone walls, older than anything else built on this road. Dark green ivy hung to the sidewalk, giving the place an “unkept” look, which, again, made the mansion stand out. It was an odd choice for this sort of place. 

It was only when Henri couldn’t just walk through the gate that he realized what the walls were used for. 

Henri briefly solidified. He lifted a long piece of ivy off of the stone, knowing what he would find: runes. Glowing softly blue and imbued with power he had rarely seen, inscribed with an expert hand… or perhaps, magic. 

Most people lacked the will to learn the runic alphabet, never mind exert the magic to power them. It was very uncommon for houses to be protected by runes like this, instead most laces purchased a ward object to power wards. The fact that Bianca was protected by these meant something. Henri studied them for a minute, unsure of how to proceed. There was a chance that he could short-circuit the entire system by pulsing some of his own magic, but with that came the risk of exhausting himself and probably becoming stuck within the premises. 

The only other option was to just leave—and that was not going to happen. Henri doubted he’d get another chance to get away from Irae. 

So he focused on the run he had seen first: shaped like a small swirl, round and one of the few non-angular ones. Protection. The shape of the rune allowed for the magic in it to swirl and focus into the center, so if Henri was lucky, the veins of magic spread outward from this one to connect to others. 

Hoping for the best, he pressed his hand to it. He looked up towards the sky, where was sure the protection of the wards extended to. Henri sent a pulse of his magic.

The sky lit up for a brief second and Henri raised both of his eyebrows in excitement. This was extremely good for his mission. He focused once more, keeping his hand in place. He needed to get through the rune-wall within the second he pulsed or he risked garnering the attention from whoever lived inside. Whether it turned out to be some sort of cult group as he expected, or just Bianca, remained to be seen. 

He sent a stronger pulse of magic this time, but instead of looking up to see the field of magic light up again, he stepped through the wall. For a second, as he launched himself, all he could see was black—the inside of the wall. 

Then, he stumbled out onto the other side. 

The night was darker here, the rune-wall acting to block out most of the light from the street. The gardens were bathed in a simple moonlight instead, and Henri would have sword he had stumbled out into a different world, especially with the now-visible woods behind the mansion. 

The mansion. Though it was obviously the home of a rich white woman, the building itself was gorgeous. Terraces reminiscent of the ancient buildings of Timoris jutted artfully from underneath windows, which were framed by soft white stone. He didn’t have to time to admire the building, but echoes of Irae’s voice went through his head: “there’s always time to admire your surroundings.”

Well, she was wrong. 

Henri checked his shadow again to make sure he was not visible. He stared at the ground for a second, admiring the expertly mowed lawn. 

Then, however, he set his eyes on the building itself, walking towards the closest wall with the aim of just simply gliding through. That part was easy enough. 

What wasn’t easy was finding Bianca. It was late at night, nearing midnight, in fact. The schedule read that she was supposed to be sleeping, hence the time that Henri chose to strike, but for some reason the house was empty. He followed long hallways, wondering where the hell she could be. 

It was only in the kitchen that he got a lead. There was chanting—the runic language Henri was trained to recognize. The butler’s pantry behind the stairs was opened to a set of stairs leading downward and in a moment of “god, do I have to go down there?” Henri decided to follow the steps. 

He made sure to remain transparent as he followed the winding steps. They were rough-hewn, some larger and smaller than others, making for very uneven steps. The chanting voices increased in volume. 

He could make out some words, yet none made sense. In the runic language, it seemed they were saying combine and reborn over and over again, but that is not how Henri knew the magic to be invoked. 

It was only when he stepped into the large room that he saw the truth. 

The room itself was large—almost cavernous. It must have been reinforced with magic, as there was no way possible for such a place to exist without crumbling from the pressure of above. That wasn’t the worst part, however… skulls and bones in various states or decay lined the cavern, stuffed into pockets in the wall dotted all over. Henri saw the horns of many Foca, scales marking the Divisi. That was not all. 

A young girl lay exposed on a table, rough stone as everything else in the cavern. She was hand in hand with an older woman, the tables connected and raised to a good height. The two seemed to be frozen mid scream, tense and unwavering in their terrified expressions—the chanting still went on. 

The young girl was Yrah, her skin glowing with that soft light that so many prided themselves on. The other woman was Foca, curling antlers jutting out of her forehead at a severe angle. Henri didn’t know what to do.

He was frozen in place as he watched Bianca Xeno herself step out of the circle, robes with an odd emblem touching the ground and moving as if there was a faint breeze. She began speaking in a different language, one that Henri was not familiar with, sounding guttural and ancient. 

The chanting stopped and allowed Bianca’s voice to rise and carry.

Then, it stopped. The room was silent and Henri thanked the gods that he was virtually invisible. 

The hooded figures dropped their hoods and approached the tables—that’s when Henri realized that the two girls were no longer frozen. Instead, their hands slumped (apart) towards the ground. Limp. Lifeless. 

A blonde woman stepped forward, grabbing the Yrah’s arm to check for a pulse. 

“Dead,” she pronounced, voice disappointed. She turned to join the circle once again. The group stayed for a bit, surveying the bodies, murmuring small things that Henri could only hear bits of. 

“I think we’re getting close…”

“Diverge will be pleased with us…”

The mention of Diverge made Henri freeze once again. Was the god in on this? Was he supporting his followers killing hundreds of people, and if so—why?

Bianca cleared her throat, gathering the attention of the rest of her group. “The god Diverge will reward us for this experiment, though it has failed… we are one step closer to the truth. We will deliver him the answers!”

There was a series of half-hearted agreements as one by one the people left, unknowingly stepping besides Henri to ascend up the stairs.

Within 5 minutes, Bianca was alone. She stared at the bodies and murmured a small prayer—most likely to Diverge. With a twist of her wrist, the pair floated up from the tables, magic powering their levitation. Bianca led the bodies into a hole in the wall that was not yet filled with remains, dumping them there. She didn’t look back. 

Henri lingered as well, wondering if perhaps the spirits of the girls would manifest as most other do. 

They didn’t. 

He turned his attention to Bianca, who had only started her trek upstairs after cleaning up. Henri didn’t particularly know what his next course of action should be. He had at most two options. One included him leaving his target—which was not going to happen. Instead, he chose to strike now. 

The room went cold. The torches of ethereal fire that kept everything lit were blown out, Henri let himself fade back into visibility before grasping his magic tightly. 

Bianca turned to the spot Henri now occupied, fear visible in her brown eyes. That faded immediately as soon as she saw him, however, and her posture changed as she narrowed her eyes. She didn’t look like Bianca anymore. 

Her eyes flashed an electric blue, a shade that Henri had never seen on a mortal before. 

“Cygnus’ son,” she said, voice decidedly not female. Henri tensed. 

“You and him have been a pain in my side for many years. It is only by the will of… others, that I have not been able to touch you yet,” Bianca’s eyes flashed again as she took a step forward. “Bianca has been found out. She will die,”

Henri found himself unable to move as Bianca reached out an arm, soft skin tugging Henri’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. 

“You’re next, Henri Sparrow,” the voice crooned, words spoken sweetly but cruel all the same.

Bianca broke from whatever had possessed her. She stumbled back, clutching at her chest as the same fear from before appeared once again—this time accompanied by confusion. 

“W-what?” She said, falling to her knees. Henri was still frozen in place. His eyes were on Bianca as she coughed, moving her hand from her mouth and revealing blood, coagulated and sitting in a lump on her hands.

It was with horror that Henri realized that it was not blood, but instead a solid piece of her lung. 

She realized the same and coughed again, hands covering her mouth as blood trickled over her hands and down her face. Bianca looked at Henri as her breaths grew labored between coughs, her organs devouring themselves inside her. 

“Help—” Bianca said, mouthing the rest of her sentence as her face contorted with pain. 

Henri was forced to watch as the woman died horribly, blood and tissue covering her skin and robes—which he knew realized carried the emblem of the Church of Diverge. 

When he could finally move, Henri crumbled to the ground and retched, the image of Bianca still burned into his mind, the metallic scent of blood ingrained in his senses. He vomited, gasping for breath that Bianca could not reach.

**Author's Note:**

> if you read this--good job! im proud of you.


End file.
